


take me home (for i am lost)

by everywordnotsaid



Category: The Brave (TV 2017)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 13:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22257304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everywordnotsaid/pseuds/everywordnotsaid
Summary: McG always figured Amir would have to open up to him eventually, he just didn't want it to be quite like this. In which McG and Amir learn a little more about each other, and guilt is a heavy burden to carry.
Relationships: Amir Al-Raisani & Joseph "McG" McGuire
Comments: 28
Kudos: 90





	1. chapter one

McG fumbles with the thin wires, struggling to attach them to the blasting cap pressed into the block of semtex in front of him. The fact that his fingers are nearly numb with cold doesn’t help the delicate procedure, and he growls a curse under his breath. 

“Are you almost finished McG? We have to move soon.”

Amir says from his position behind him. McG can hear the tension in his voice, even though he’s facing away. He shifts uncomfortably, knees starting to ache from kneeling too long. 

“I know, I know. I’m going as fast as I can.”

_Just go ahead and rush the guy who’s messing around with a brick of plastic explosives_ , he thinks but doesn’t say, _see how well that goes for you_. His comm crackles to life in his ear and his fingers twitch dangerously. 

“Finished setting the charges at the south-east corner, heading to the rendezvous.”

Jaz says, sounding vaguely smug even through the distortion. McG grits his teeth as the wires refuse to stay connected to the damn timer device. 

“Jaz, this isn’t a competition.” Top says, sigh crackling over the radio. “McG, Amir, what’s your status?”

“Coast is clear, for now. No hostiles sighted.”

Amir reports. McG finally manages to slot the last wire in place, tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth in concentration. 

“Almost done…..There!” With a click he closes the face of the timer, arming it, and pushes himself to his feet pulling his gloves back on as he stands. “Charge is set, we’re headed to you.” 

“Acknowledged. See you in ten.”

Top replies. As McG pushes himself to his feet he throws a grin at Amir whose gaze is still leveled down the corridor, M16 up and head on a swivel. 

“See, I told you I got it.”

He teases lightly. Amir rolls his eyes as they start towards the rendezvous point. 

“Yes, but it would have been faster if you’d just let me do it.”

McG lets his shoulder lightly knock against Amir’s as he moves forward to take the lead. 

“Didn’t you hear what Top said? It’s not a competition.”

He calls quietly over his shoulder, turning to clear the next room before Amir can think of a reply. 

They move quickly through the long abandoned hallways, the timer McG set on his watch driving them forward. They’ve got about six minutes and change before this whole building comes down on top of them and the cache of Russian explosives and weapons in the basement. It’s a compelling incentive to move swiftly and with purpose, and McG clears each corner quicker then the one before, Amir keeping pace behind him to watch their backs. In retrospect, it was stupid and careless and he’s going to regret it for the rest of his life. 

He takes the next corner a little too fast, his body going out from behind cover before his rifle. It breaks every rule drilled into him in basic and if Top were here he’d chew him a new one, but he’s thinking more about the approximately 20 pounds of semtex that’s about to blow then clearing every corner and room of the seemingly abandoned building. It was stupid, and the bullet bites into his thigh, just above the knee. His leg buckles and he goes down before his brain even has time to catch up with what’s happened and by then it’s too late. The sound of two shots rings out, deafeningly loud in the small corridor, and McG half expects to feel them tearing into his flesh. No more pain comes though, and when he looks up he sees a man in dark camo at the other end of the hallway crumple to the ground. A pair red stains spread quickly across his uniform center-mass. There’s the sound of hurried footsteps from behind him and after a second Amir appears in his field of view, face cool and hands efficient as he kneels in front of McG. 

“Are you alright?”

He asks in a clipped tone, swinging his rifle to the side as he starts to tear open the hole in the leg of McG’s ruined pants.

“It didn’t hit bone, went straight through. I’ll be fine.” 

McG bites out, wincing a little as Amir pokes at the wound, more embarrassed by the stupid mistake then anything. Amir ignores him, lips pressed tight and eyes focused down.

“Amir, seriously, I said I’m fine.”  
  
He says more roughly then he means, brushing at Amir’s hands where they continue to prod. Amir looks up to him, brow furrowed, and opens his mouth to say something. Before he can he jerks, eyes going wide with surprise, before abruptly falling forward into McG as something warm and salty sprays across McG’s face. The sudden weight of Amir’s body knocks him back and he falls awkwardly to the ground, Amir splayed on top of him and wet viscous liquid soaking into the front of his BDU’s. Looking back on the moment, he doesn’t even remember hearing the gunshot, just remembers the awful thought running through his brain _is this what Jaz felt like?_

For a fraction of a second he just lays there, shock freezing his muscles in place while he tries to process what happened, but then his years and years of training kick in and he doesn’t think anymore-just moves. Rolling Amir off of him as gently as he can he sits up, swinging his M16 around as he does. He barely takes the time to sight at the tango who’s just come around the corner, planting a bullet in his chest, then his head, then chest again just for good measure. The man stumbles and slumps back against the wall behind him before sliding bonelessly down to the ground. He leaves a trail of gore behind him, bright crimson against the dull grey concrete. 

It takes a moment for McG’s head to catch up with his body, adrenaline pumping through his veins and heart pounding furiously in his chest, and as soon as it does he turns back to Amir. Amir who hasn’t moved or made a sound since he collapsed against McG. He’s still lying where McG left him, chest moving in a sharp frantic staccato as he silently pants, eyes wide and staring. McG clumsily half drags-half crawls himself to Amir’s side, pulling his pack with him. He can see Amir’s eyes lock onto him as he approaches, takes comfort in the fact that he’s lucid enough to recognize him. There’s a rapidly growing pool of blood under Amir, spreading out from beneath him like someone spilled a glass of wine. He can already feel it soaking into the knees of his pants. There’s no blood on the front of Amir’s shirt though, meaning the bullet’s probably still inside him somewhere. 

“Hey man, I got you, you’re gonna be fine. Okay, you’re gonna be just fine.”

He says, trying to keep the panic out of his voice as he pulls off his gloves and pushes Amir onto his side to look at the entry wound. Amir’s breath hitches but other then that he’s quiet. His eyes are glassy and blank, from pain or shock or some combination of the two. It’s hard to tell how bad the damage is, blood keeps welling up and obscuring his view of the injury, fingers slipping in it as he tries to clear it away. It looks like the bullet hit just past the edge of his vest, but entered too high to hit his heart or his lungs. McG counts his blessing for that as he lets Amir back down.

“McG, where the hell are you guys?”

Top questions shortly in his ear. McG winces, reaching in to his bag to pull out a roll of gauze. Tearing the packaging open he rips off a length and reaches under Amir to press it hard against the wound. Amir grunts, biting down hard on his lip as his fingers scrabble uselessly against the floor. 

“We uh, we ran into some trouble. Both got tagged.”

“How bad?”

Is the immediate reply, Top’s voice razor-sharp and suddenly attentive. McG glances down at his leg which is still bleeding sluggishly and throbbing in time with his hammering pulse.

“I’m fine, through and through to the leg. Amir took one to the shoulder, still trying to assess how bad, but he’s conscious.” 

He’s sweating now despite the cold of fall in Ukraine, feels it beading across his forehead. He reaches up to wipe it away and when he pulls his hand down the back of his glove is smeared with red. Suddenly he’s aware of the tacky feeling of blood drying on his face. He feels vaguely sick. Top’s still talking in his ear and he forces himself to focus. 

“-are you mobile? You’ve got three minutes till those charges blow McG you have to move.”

“Yeah,” he says with a confidence he’s not sure he feels. “Yeah, we’re mobile.”

Reaching down he taps sharply at the side of Amir’s face which is grey and clammy to the touch. He’s definitely going into shock he notes, problematic but can be dealt with when they’re not three minute away from being crushed to death under a couple tons of concrete and steel. 

“Hey Amir, I need you to focus okay. We have to go, buildings going to come down soon and we can’t be in it. I’d carry you but my leg isn’t gonna hold any weight so I need you to help me Amir, can you do that?”

He hates to ask, it goes against every instinct he has as a medic, but they don’t have any other choice. Amir for his part just nods, lips tight but face determined. His eyes have lost the glazed look from earlier, and he seems more present. 

“Just help me up.”

He says tightly, already weakly trying to lever himself into a sitting position with one arm, the other cradled against his stomach. McG does what he can to help, lending his shoulder for Amir to use to lever himself upward and bracing him when he wavers a little. It takes a few seconds but eventually Amir is standing. He leans against the wall, panting a little, before reaching a hand down to McG. He takes it, letting Amir pull him to his feet and pushing up as much as he can with his good leg. It’s an awkward ungainly process but eventually they’re both upright, McG’s arm looped around Amir’s left shoulder, Amir bringing up his usable arm to clutch at the sleeve of McG’s uniform to keep him anchored.

McG hitches his pack higher on his shoulder as the start their trek towards the exit, bringing his M16 up and bracing it against his side so he can use it one-handed. He’ll damned if he makes the same mistake twice. If the situation wasn’t so dire McG might even laugh at the two of them, limping their way through the building at a snails pace like some sort of geriatric buddy-cop duo. As it is the steady trail of red they’re leaving on the ground behind them and the soft sounds of pain Amir makes with every step don’t seem so funny. 

“Come on man, we just got to make it a little further alright? Once we’re out there’s a nice comfy hospital bed waiting, maybe even some hot nurses.”

McG cajoles, as they crawl forwards. Top’s tense bark echoes over the comms. 

“Status report?”

“We’re moving towards the east exit. A minute out.”

He hears someone curse, Preach he thinks, before Top cuts them off. 

“Dammit, McG, you have to move faster.” 

He wishes they could, but Amir’s flagging, blood soaked all the way down his sleeve to his wrist now, and McG isn’t much help hopping along awkwardly beside him. He knows Amir’s doing the best he can, but there is only so much the body is capable of and even Amir’s determination can’t fight the effects of blood loss. 

They’re not going to make it; he can already tell they’re not going to make it. There’s just not enough time, even as Amir doggedly drags them both along with a strength that belies his small stature. It’s just not enough. In his ear he can hear the team clamoring, Jaz begging Top to let her go back for them, like it would do any good. Just get all three of them killed instead, but he appreciates the sentiment. Tuning them out he searches for an out, for something, for anything. 

There’s a door up ahead on their left that McG had noted on their way in, maybe a cleaning supply closet or something in better days before this building had been torn apart by war. Now it might be what saves them. He nudges Amir urgently, jerking his chin towards the door. 

“We’re not going to make it out,” 

He says a little breathlessly, probably telling Amir something he already knew. Amir nods, changing course. From McG’s wrist his watch beeps urgently at them, glowing numbers counting down unfairly quickly. 

“Change of plans Top, not gonna make the rendezvous. Taking cover in a room just to the west of the main entrance.”

He bites out, not waiting for a reply. As they get closer McG reaches out and drags the door open in front of them, and they practically fall the last few feet into the cramped room. Amir stays where he is, rolling onto his back and panting, but McG scrambles onto his knees, pushing the door closed before throwing himself on top of Amir, trying to cover as much of the smaller man with his own body as he can. 

The alarm he on his watch goes off with a high-pitched tone and around them the building starts to shake as the charges they set take out the support pillars, a rumble that starts out small and then builds and builds and builds until it eclipses everything else, till he can feel it in his bones. The last thing he hears is Top shouting their names in his ear, and then there’s a sharp pain at the back of his head and darkness.


	2. chapter two

McG wakes up to the sound of someone calling his name, voice penetrating through a hazy fog that seems to blanket everything around him. 

“McG. _McG_ , I can’t breathe!”

Amir says in his ear, sounding breathless. McG starts, realizing he’s lying on top of Amir and probably crushing him under his full body weight. He pushes himself off, rolling to the side and blinking blearily. His head hurts and he can’t see a damn thing and there’s a panicked second where he’s worried he’s gone blind. Then the last few minutes rush back in and the panic recedes to be replaced with the knowledge that he needs to do _something_ and quickly. He can feel sticky blood on the back of his neck and his leg is still throbbing but there’s no time to sit and cry over his pains yet. 

“How long was I out for?”

He asks, words only slurring a little as he unstraps his helmet and runs his hand over the back of his head looking for skull fractures. There’s a growing bump at the base of his skull but no large contusions or irregularities in the bone. His Kevlar wasn’t so lucky, there’s deep crack running along the back of it, and he’s suddenly very grateful they have to wear helmets. Whatever hit him would have cracked his head open like a melon. Beside him he can hear Amir shrug in the darkness.

“About thirty seconds, I think”

Thirty seconds is good, probably means no permanent damage, mild concussion most likely. Amir’s voice is thin with pain when he responds, but he’s talking and McG wants to keep it that way. Once he’s satisfied he’s not bleeding into his brain or about to pass out again he reaches for his earwig, only to find it missing. Probably got knocked out when his bell got rung. 

“Hey, can you see if your comms still work?”

McG asks, partly because he needs to know and partly to keep Amir talking. As he waits for a response he starts to rummage blindly in his pack for the flashlight he knows he brought. Everything’s a little wet, and he quickly discovers it’s because his IV bags have burst, spilling their contents all over the inside of the pack. He sets that fact aside too deal with later. 

“Already tried. Think it got crushed.”

There’s an airless breathy quality to Amir’s voice that he doesn’t like, and he frowns as his finger closes around the cool ridged handle of the torch. Fishing it out of his bag he tries to click it on and curses when it flickers briefly then dies. Throwing it aside he takes a deep breath, trying to pull himself together. This is bad, but he’s trained for bad. He can handle bad. He exhales, counting to ten as he does, and when he reaches the end he feels a little less like hitting something. 

“Alright, that’s fine. That’s fine.” 

Pushing aside the panic and the frustration he focuses on what he can do in the moment. His first instinct is to take another look at Amir’s shoulder, but the uncomfortable feeling of blood sliding down his thigh reminds him of his own wounds. He doesn’t like it, but he has to take care of his leg. He’s no use to Amir if he passes out from blood loss. Reaching into his pack again he roots around for supplies, pulling out gloves, iodine wipes, and sterile gauze and dressings. Or at least he hopes it’s what he thinks it is, it’s all a guessing game right now. 

“I’m just patch myself up real quick,” He says as he snaps on a pair of gloves and tears open a package of wipes with his teeth, spitting out the aluminum-lined corner. The metal tastes like blood in his mouth. “And then I’ll take another look at that shoulder okay?”

“How’s your leg?” Amir says from the darkness to his left, he sounds worried. For some reason that pisses McG off. “It was bleeding pretty bad.” 

“Look, if it had hit an artery I’d be dead already. It’s a clean through and through, like I told Top. I’ve had worse.”

McG takes a deep breath and wipes down the entrance and exits holes, grunting as the iodine burns in the open wounds. After he’s hopefully cleaned away most of the concrete dust and whatever other debris might have found it’s way onto his leg he quickly and efficiently presses a gauze pad to each wound and then wraps a bandage around his thigh a few times to hold them in place, tying it off neatly. Repetition is a handy tool sometimes, he’d always told Jaz he could do this with his eyes closed. Snapping off his used gloves and discarding them to the side he pulls on a clean pair and turns to Amir, following the sound of his breathing till his hands come into contact with warm flesh. 

“Okay, your turn.”

He says, trying to sound upbeat. Amir just makes a low noise in his throat in response. He first checks the front of Amir’s shoulder, running his hands along it. There’s a distinctive bump mid-way along his clavicle. McG grimaces, a few more seconds of investigation confirming his fear. He thinks about Amir half carrying him here and winces. 

“Bad news, looks like your collarbone is broken.”

“I’m assuming there’s good news as well?”

Amir says, voice rough with pain and stress but still managing to sound acerbic. McG manages a faint smile, not that either of them can see it. 

“Alright, good news is it feels like a pretty clean fracture, no distension of the skin or tenting. Probably won’t even need surgery. Other bad news is you still got shot. Now, I’m going to roll you onto your side so I can get a look at that entry wound alright?”

He feels Amir nod, and gently rolls him over, being extra careful of the break, trying to ignore the soft sound of pain that escapes Amir’s throat. He really wishes he had a damn light. Instead he slides his hand along Amir’s back until he feels torn edges of flesh, then cuts open his shirt and palpates the surrounding area. His quick examination from earlier seems to have been accurate, the bullet definitely entered too high for the heart. There’s no exit wound so it probably hit the clavicle bone and ricocheted. His fingers slip in the blood that keeps welling to the surface as he reaches with his free hand for the sterile swabs. 

“Hey Amir, I can’t quite see right now so you’re gonna have to help me out, how much are you bleeding? Has it slowed down at all?” 

There’s a long pause as McG braces Amir against his knee, using his hands to tear another package open. His fingers are tacky with blood and it takes him a second.

“Not really…” 

McG’s frown deepens, there are a lot of veins in the shoulder- brachial, subclavian, subscapular-and if the bullet hit one… it could be bad. There’s not way to tell though, not in the dark without proper equipment. He just has to cross his fingers and hope, otherwise Amir’s timer just got a lot shorter. 

“Listen, I have to clean this out alright, last thing we need is sepsis. It’s gonna sting a little bit.” 

“Just do it.” 

Amir grits out, like he’s already preparing for the pain. McG does, not giving him a countdown; it just makes it worse in his experience. Moving as efficiently as he can he wipes away the dust and blood in and around the wound, other hand steadying Amir. He can feel Amir’s muscle tense, rigid and corded under his fingers, but to his credit he barely makes a sound. He finishes quickly, giving Amir a comforting pat on the back, tries ignores the fine tremors he feels. 

“You’re doing great buddy, almost finished okay?” 

Amir doesn’t reply, just takes a shaky breath. Grabbing the hemcon he starts to pack the wound, pressing the gauze as deep into the ragged hole as it will go. He pushes down on Amir’s shoulder with his elbow as he bucks a little, trying to keep him from fighting it too hard. 

“Almost done, I promise, almost done just gotta stay still for a little longer man.”

He says soothingly, as he layers more gauze over the wound before pressing a dressing over the top of it and taping it down. By the end Amir’s damp with sweat, his shoulders shaking a little bit. McG sits back on his heels, rolling Amir onto his back again. There’s not much he can do about the collarbone, and if the bullet did hit an artery Amir is as good as dead, but at the very least he’s not actively bleeding all over the floor anymore. He tries not to feel grim.

“Hey, Amir, you still with me?”

He asks as he peels off his gloves. There’s a pause, long enough that McG almost starts to worry, before Amir replies

“Yes.”

He rasps, and doesn’t offer anything else. It’ll have to be good enough for now. Pushing the left over detritus to the side McG reaches down and finds Amir’s hand, pressing two fingers to the inside of his wrist and counting the beats in his head. His pulse is a little fast, but that’s not surprising given the blood loss. He wishes he could take a look at Amir’s BP, but this will have to do. Searching behind him for a second he locates his canteen, taking a shallow sip before offering it Amir. There’s no telling how long they’ll be stuck here, so they’ll have to ration it. Still, he wants to get Amir’s fluid levels up. Amir takes the canteen with a trembling hand and immediately drops it. Through some miracle McG manages to catch it before it spills all over the ground, cool water splashing on to his hand. 

“I’m sorry.”

Amir says quietly, sounding embarrassed. McG clears his throat, and puts on his most cheerful voice. 

“Woah there butterfingers, no need to apologize. Lemme give you a hand alright?”

Lifting the canteen up again he manages to find Amir’s face and tilts some water into his mouth, steadying him with his other hand. Amir pushes the canteen away sooner then he would have liked, but he doesn’t comment, just screws the lid on and sets it down where he’ll be able to find it again. Satisfied that Amir’s as stable as he’s going to get McG decides to explore the damage the explosions have caused to their hiding spot. Pushing himself awkwardly up he feels his way forward, careful to avoid Amir, until his hands make contact with the cool smooth concrete of the wall. He feels a little unsteady on his feet, faint nausea rising in his stomach at the sudden movements and he has to pause for a second to let his stomach settle. He hates concussions. 

The ceiling is lower then it used to be, and he’s forced to hunch low to avoid banging his head. Using the wall to guide him he limps forward towards where he thinks the door was, holding one arm in front of him. After a few seconds he feels his head brush against something and pauses, feeling up in front of him. His hand runs into something almost immediately. It looks like the front wall of the closet had collapsed backwards until it had hit the far end, creating a wedge spaced shape. It’s quickly obvious there’s no way he’s digging them out on his own. He’s not really surprised by the discovery but something in his chest still tightens. He leans forward, resting his forehead against the cool stone, and closes his eyes for a second, breathing in through his nose. It’s funny how the dark of his eyelids is a different color then the dark of the room, brighter almost.   
  
“Well, looks like we’re pretty damn stuck.”

He calls back to Amir, trying to sound upbeat, only really half-managing it. 

“Oh, you’re not going to dig us out with your bare hands? I’m disappointed in you McG…”

  
“Haha, very funny. Anyways, I’m sure the team is looking for us already. They’ll find us, we just have to sit tight.”

Amir doesn’t say anything about the irony of that sentence, and he’s grateful for it. Pushing off the wall he makes his way back to Amir, managing not to trip on any of the rubble that litters the floor, and eases himself down beside him again. His leg throbs dully, protesting the overuse and he lets a long breath out between clenched teeth. 

“How are you feeling?”

He asks, as he takes Amir’s pulse again. 

“Cold.” 

Amir replies. His skin is cool to the touch, heart rate still landing somewhere in the 110’s. McG’s feeling the chill as well, the uninsulated concrete they’re sitting on not helping. Sighing he slides himself around till his back is against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. 

“C’mere.”

Reaching forward he carefully hooks Amir under the armpits and pulls him towards himself until he’s sitting with his back flush to McG’s chest. Amir makes a small surprised noise, but doesn’t protest except to say,

“No offense McG, but I don’t think I like you _that_ much.”

McG snorts, he can nearly see the look of over-blown innocence in Amir’s eyes.

“You took a bullet for me man, you must like me at least a little bit.”

McG ribs gently, settling Amir against him more comfortably. Amir scoffs weakly, 

“Trust me, it was not on purpose.”

Suddenly the joke doesn’t seem so funny anymore. McG licks his lips. 

“I never said thank you for… for-”

 _For covering my fuck up_ , he thinks bitterly, _for paying for it too_. Before he can finish his sentence though Amir cuts him off. 

“Joseph, please. You don’t have to thank me. Not for that.” 

And he sounds so earnest it hurts a little. 


	3. chapter three

McG doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing and they lapse into silence. For a while they sit in that heavy silence, the only sound Amir’s ragged breathing and the distant eerie noise of the building shifting. Just when the darkness is starting to weigh down on his shoulders like a physical presence Amir speaks up. 

“Tell me about Montana.”

He asks. McG’s surprised by the request, Amir usually doesn’t like to talk about home, bad memories there he’s assumed but never asked. 

“It’s, uh, big. I guess.” He starts, a little unsure. “Empty. But in a good way, y’know?” 

He can feel Amir’s hair brush the bottom of his chin as his head tilts, maybe looking up. 

“How so?”

Amir questions. McG shrugs, not quite sure he knows how to put it to words in a way that makes sense. 

“Like… empty like peaceful, I guess. There’s something nice about stepping outside and knowing there’s not another person for twenty miles, just the wind and the grass and the mountains. On a clear day, the sky gets so blue it aches a little to look at, and it feels like it could just go on forever. Like you could fall into it if you’re not careful.”

McG doesn’t think of himself as a particularly sentimental guy, but right now trapped in this dark cold room with his friend slowly bleeding against him thinking of the clear open skies of home makes his throat tighten. He coughs a little, rubs a hand under his nose. 

“I didn’t realize you had such a poetic streak McG.”

Amir says softly. It could be teasing but somehow, the way he says it, it’s not. McG laughs a little uncomfortably, resisting the urge to shrug again because he doesn’t want to jostle Amir. 

“Was it just you and your mother?” 

McG nods, before realizing Amir can’t see him. 

“Yeah, me and her and a bunch of cows. Plus Buffalo.”

Amir’s head quirks again.

“Buffalo?”

McG grins despite himself at the caution mixed with curiosity in Amir’s voice. 

“He was my dog growin’ up.”

There’s a moment of silence. 

“You named your dog _buffalo_.”

Amir says incredulously. 

“Hey, I was like six when I named him okay. And he was this big fuzzy brown mutt, y’know, to a kid he looked a lot like-”

“Like a buffalo”

Amir finishes, a hint of laughter coloring his voice. For a second McG feels oddly defensive, but then he realizes it is pretty funny and he laughs too and for a second the room feels a little less dark. 

“Were you ever… lonely… out there?”

Amir asks after a second, the laughter melting away to something more pensive, almost tentative. Like he’s not sure he wants the answer or not. McG thinks about for it a while, turning it over in his head before he answers.

“Nah,” He says finally. “I had my mom, and Buffalo, and even the cows were pretty good company. I never felt like I needed anything else. Buffulo the first died a couple of years ago, but Buffalo the seconds doing great, it’s always nice to come home to a big excited pup. And mom and the cows of course.” 

There’s a long pause and then Amir says, so quietly McG has to strain to hear him, 

“That sounds…nice.” 

And there’s something so achingly small, so achingly wanting, in his voice that it makes McG’s stomach hurt. He swallows hard.

“Well what about you? What’s Lebanon like?”

For a second McG thinks that Amir’s not going to answer. It’s always a delicate balance with Amir, what questions you can ask, what places you can go. On some days you’ll be lucky and you learn something, the breakfast his mother used to cook on Sunday’s or his favorite beach when he was a kid. On other days he just shuts off, locking the softest parts himself down under miles of restraint and self-control. You can nearly see him retreat, shrinking away from them like a shadow under noon day sun. Maybe he went to far, tread on ground the Amir’s not ready to revisit. Amir does reply though, a little haltingly, but the corners of his voice are gentle. 

“It is…beautiful. And old, you can feel it everywhere you go. The history in every street and cobblestone, the feet that have walked them before you. There are mountains there too, though not as tall as those in Montana I imagine. But still very beautiful.”

Amir’s voice has taken on that airless quality again as he talks, and McG reaches around him to take his vitals again. His pulse is weaker then it was before, and too quick. It flutters against his fingers like a birds wings as his heart works overtime to compensate for the blood loss, and there’s jack shit McG can do about it. Those IV bags would be real nice right about now, but he stops himself before he can go down that path. What’s done is done, no use crying over spilled saline bags. He realizes that Amir’s trailed off into silence and shifts his shoulder a little, trying to prompt Amir.

“Hey, what about your house? Bet you had a pretty nice place growing up, with those real estate holdings and all.”

“Yes. It was…spacious. We lived by the coast, in Beirut, and I could see the ocean from my bedroom. Outside in the courtyard there was a very old pine tree, I loved to climb in it when I was younger. My mother was always scolding me for ripping my clothes and tracking sap into the house, I was a bit of a… “ There’s something faintly embarrassed to his tone, and he pauses to clear his throat before continuing. “…disobedient child. Once when I was eight I fell and broke my arm very badly, I stopped climbing in it after that.”

McG raises an eyebrow, tries to imagine a younger Amir with sap stained hands and a sheepish look on his face being ripped a new one by his mom and fails. 

“Your parents must have been worried.”

Amir laughs, a little bitterly. 

“My mother was, she was terrified. I remember her crying on the way to hospital. My father just told me it was an important lesson to learn.”

When McG had been ten he’d tried to ride the big stallion his mother kept without telling her out of some sort of ridiculous pre-teen ego. It had bucked him off barely three steps out of the barn, and he’d nearly been trampled as it panicked. His mom had run out of the house, yanking him out from under the horse with one hand and getting the frantic animal under control with the other. Luckily he hadn’t been hurt, but it shook the both of them up pretty bad. He remembers sitting curled in her lap on the muddy ground, nearly crying from the fear while her fingers carded through his hair. She had been angry, of course, but she had been tender then, when he had needed it. He thinks about that moment a lot, about how there is a time for kindness and a time for anger. He wonders if Amir’s father thought about kindness then. 

“Damn, your dad sounds like kind of a hard-ass.”

Amir shrugs his uninjured shoulder. 

“It is not in his nature to be gentle. He had a difficult upbringing, he thought it was the best way. And he was right, I did learn an important lesson.”

“What was it?”

McG asks, morbidly curious. 

“That the world is not a gentle place and it will hurt you if it can.” 

Amir says, so softly he barely hears it. McG thinks there’s something very sad to that, to be a child and look at the world and see all the ways it is cruel. A loss of innocence that shouldn’t be lost. 

“That’s a tough lesson to learn…”

He says, a little hesitant. He feels Amir’s good shoulder shrug against his chest. 

“Maybe. But it’s kept me alive.” 

And something to his words that makes McG shiver. There’s a darkness to Amir that he thinks is sometimes missed, because he’s small and unassuming and reserved. Amir probably counts on that. But he sees it sometimes, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t scare him a little. Not afraid of Amir, but for him. He remembers Jaz telling him how Amir had killed that cell leader in Paris, how he’d twisted the knife in his gut and watched the life drain out of him. It seems so different from the man who’d made them breakfast, chatting excitedly about farmer’s market herbs, or the one who played horseshoes with McG in the warm afternoon sun. He hopes Amir sees more then the darkness when he looks in the mirror, hopes he sees the light there too. He realizes he’s been quiet for a while and clears his throat, changing the subject. 

“You never talk about them-your parents I mean- what do they think about what you’re doing now?”

It’s a bold question, bolder then McG would normally ask, but there’s something about the darkness and the way it hides them from each other that makes it fall easier from his lips. Or maybe it’s just the blood loss talking. Either way, he half doesn’t even expect a response. 

“I…I have not spoken to my parents in many years.” 

Amir says, and his tone is blank as a fresh chalkboard yet still so fraught with more emotions then McG can count. Like a wall that’s been painted over a hundred times but you can still see all the old colors underneath. It’s not surprising exactly, but it’s still sad to hear him say it. He thinks about the way Amir had talked about his mother’s shakshuka, the way his voice had grown fond in a way he’d never heard from Amir before. He wonders where Amir goes on his leave, if he doesn’t go home, if he has friends he visits. The image of Amir sitting alone in a dreary apartment springs to mind, and he suddenly resolves to invite Amir to Montana the next time they have leave. People shouldn’t be alone like that, it isn’t right. 

“I left home when I was nineteen, and I do not think I would be welcomed back.” 

Amir continues still so carefully blank, voice still filled to overflowing.

“Aw, come on. No matter how bad you fucked up they’re still your parents. It’s their job to deal with your shit.”

Amir says nothing and McG sighs, closing his eyes. 

“You know, I didn’t tell my mom before I joined up, just drove myself into town one day and did it.”

Amir shifts, and McG can hear genuine surprise in his voice when he replies. 

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s not my proudest moment. I’ve never seen her as angry as when I told her, and I’m talking the cold calm kind of angry that means you’re truly fucked. I really thought we’d never been the same after that, but we worked it out. If she can forgive me for that I’m sure your parents can forgive you for whatever dumbass thing you did at nineteen.”

For a long time Amir doesn’t say anything, and when he does McG almost wishes he hadn’t.

“There are some things that are unforgiveable.”

His voice is raw, like the words scratched at his throat on the way out, and filled with an old pain that is still bloody and fresh. He doesn’t push further there, a little afraid of what he might find. He’s heard grief like that before, felt it even. It’s not something he cares to revisit. 

“Was it just you and your parents growing up?”

There’s a long heavy pause before Amir replies. 

“No. No, I had a sister.” 

There’s something bittersweet to the way he says sister. Something tender. McG notices he used past tense. 

“Had?”

“She…died. When she was very young.”

“I’m sorry.”

McG offers, the words feeling inadequate. They always do, in the face of loss, but they are all he has. 

“It was a long time ago.”

Amir says bluntly, tone suddenly resolutely vacant, and McG feels him stiffen. It hurts a little, because loss is loss and grief is grief and time may mend all wounds but it doesn’t erase them. McG’s learned that the hard way. 

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be sorry. Just because…just because something happened a long time ago doesn’t mean that it hurts any less. Some things take a while to heal.” 

And he thinks of his mother waving goodbye at a bus station in Billings Montana, thinks about when she called him at boot camp the day Buffalo died, thinks about Elijah. Then, carefully, cautiously, he adds. 

“I’m sure she was wonderful.” 

He feels Amir loosen a little against him, shoulders slumping as the fight runs out of him. 

“She was.” He says simply. “She was wonderful, and now she’s gone.” 

“Y’know, my mom once told me that no one is every really gone. She said that they’re still with you, in the wind and the rain and the stars. You don’t leave people where you bury them, you carry them with you.”

“Your mother sounds like a wise woman.” 

Amir whispers, and in the quiet stillness his voice echoes against the cool concrete walls.


	4. chapter four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! This chapter was tough to write for some reason.

They’ve just lapsed into silence again when McG notices a damp patch on the front of his shirt, where Amir is laying against him. Gently leaning Amir forward a little he sneaks his other arm behind his back and presses his fingers to the lump of bandages taped to Amir’s shoulder. They’re soaked through. He pulls his fingers back like he’s been burned, stomach sinking. If Amir’s bled that much in just the time they’ve been talking there’s no way it’s not arterial. 

“Damn it Amir,” he whispers, the name strangled out from suddenly numb lips, “Why didn’t you say anything.”

“Because,” Amir says, sounding sorry. “There’s nothing you can do.” 

His voice is thin, like he’s already fading away. McG wants to shout, wants to yell and shake him by the shoulders and protest but he can’t. Because Amir is right, there’s nothing he can do, and he hates it. He wants saline bags and a flashlight that works and why not throw in a whole damn OR while he’s wishing for impossible things. He wants to not be alone with Amir in this small room that’s starting to feel like a coffin. He feels sick again, but not from the concussion. 

He changes Amir’s bandages, throwing the sopping ones to the side and replacing them with fresh gauze. He’s almost glad for the dark so he can’t see how much of Amir is soaked into the bandages and the floor and McG’s clothes. Almost. Amir stays quiet and allows McG’s administrations, but he can feel the toll it’s taking on him. 

“How are you feeling, any numbness or tingling? And no more bullshit excuses alright, you got to be honest with me here or I can’t help you.”

“Can’t feel much in my hands or feet anymore.”

Amir says bluntly. McG takes a short breath, pressing his eyes closed. If Amir’s losing feeling in his extremities it’s…bad. He takes his pulse and grimaces. If he had to guess without looking at a BP Amir’s probably a pint or two short of bottoming out. 

“I have a stick of morphine.” McG says quietly as he settles Amir back into a sitting position. “You should take it.”

Amir just stubbornly shakes his head. 

“No. I don’t-I want to be awake.” 

And there’s something to the way he says it that makes McG drop the subject. They end up in the same position as before, but now Amir holds less of himself up, slumping back bonelessly into McG’s chest. 

“Do you think they’re looking for us?” 

Amir asks, he doesn’t say who is but he doesn’t have too. McG nods.

“Of course.” 

He says, without hesitation. And he knows it’s not the most logical response; they’re in hostile territory buried under a couple of tons of concrete with no support or back up to speak of. The team doesn’t have any way to even confirm they’re still alive, and McG knows the smart move, the _logical_ move would be to withdraw. It’s just, there are certain things you can be sure of. Like the sun rising in the east, or Jaz’s eggs being runny. And he’s sure of his team, sure down to his bones. And he knows that they’re looking for them even if it means tearing this place to pieces brick by brick. 

“How can you…how can you know that?”

Amir whispers, and his voice is uncharacteristically unsure. There’s a note of something bittersweet in his voice, something that almost sounds like hope. For a split second McG is pissed, because how could Amir ask that. After what they’ve been through together as a team, after what he’s seen them put on the line for each other. But then the anger subsides and in its place is the grim realization that Amir could ask that because he’s probably not used to the idea of people sticking around when things go south. Or there even being people to stick around. He pauses, and takes a second to think, trying to find the words that make the feeling in his gut make sense. A way to explain why the answer is as easy as breathing. 

“Because, that’s what we’d do for them. Isn’t it?”

He settles on finally. Amir’s breath hitches, so light that McG barely notices. 

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have…It was wrong of me to doubt them.”

And there’s something gutted to his voice, like someone told him his dog just died, like McG slapped him across the face. His stomach twists; he hadn’t meant it like that. 

“Hey man, don’t worry about it.” He says, forcing his voice to be light. “I know it’s hard to lose the whole lone wolf routine. But you know we always got your back, right?” 

Amir nods slowly.

“I know.” Amir takes a deep breath, and McG can feel his back shift and expand against him. “I… I don’t say this lightly, but I would give my life for any of you gladly.”

From anyone else it would sound trite, but Amir says it with deadly seriousness. Swallowing against the tightness in his throat he forces himself to reply. 

“I know.”

McG whispers, and wishes he didn’t. _I know_ he says, and tries not to think about how maybe Amir’s proving that true right now. The feeling of blood drying into the knees of his pants and the labored panting of Amir’s breath don’t let him though. The trembling heartbeat he finds every time he checks Amir’s pulse an ominous reminder that time is running out. 

They sit for a while in silence; both of them too exhausted too keep up the conversation, and a grim mood hangs in the air. It’s hard to tell how long it’s been since the building came down, McG’s watch was apparently crushed by debris when the building came down because it refuses to light up, but if he had to guess it’s been at least an hour. He shifts a little, legs starting to feel numb from sitting in the same position for so long, and then winces as the bullet hole in his thigh protests the movement. Amir must hear him because he questions quietly,

“How’s the leg?”

McG sniffs, reaching down to feel the bandages. There’s a wet spot that leaves his fingers tacky but the bleedings slowed considerably. Still he’s lost more blood then he’s comfortable with, both of them have, and he can feel it in the way his fingers are sluggish and slow. 

“Fine.”

“And the head?”

His head is throbbing with a low dull pain that echoes behind his eyes even in the darkness.

“Also fine…” 

Amir’s voice is weak when he replies, but his tone is still biting. 

“How is it really, McG. Didn’t you just tell me to be honest? I think that goes both ways.” 

McG sighs. He hates when patients start trying to get smart with him, hard to avoid keep the higher ground when they throw your own logic back in your face.

“Alright, alright. You’re right. It’s…not great. But I haven’t had any nausea or vertigo so I think the prognosis is positive. Satisfied?”

There’s no response, and after a second McG hitches his shoulder, nudging at Amir. 

“Hey, Amir, I asked you a question man.”

There’s still no response, Amir’s head dipping forward limply and McG feels a tendril of panic unfurl in his stomach. He reaches up and shakes Amir a little more vigorously,

“Amir, Amir!”

Amir lets out a low groan, head rolling back slowly. The tightness in McG’s chest lifts a little and he takes a deep shaky breath. 

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me. You have stay awake man, no napping.”

He says, voice thready with relief. Amir just makes a low sound of pain in response, and McG closes his eyes for a second, heart thumping loudly in his ears. 

“I know, I know. You just gotta hold on a little longer okay, I bet they’re gonna find us any minute now and then it’s just a cushy ride to a nice, comfy, well-light hospital bed.”

“McG…” Amir says, words carried on the breath of a whisper. “You’re a bad liar. I think…I think we both know they’re not coming. Not soon enough for me.” 

McG’s throat tightens, and it takes him a moment to be able to reply without his voice shaking. 

“You’re not going to die Amir. I’m not going to let you.”

He tries to say it like it means something, like a promise. Because McG’s a goddamn medic and it’s his job to keep people alive and yet…It may be a promise but they both know that it’s an empty one. 

“Everyone-” Amir says, almost tentative, almost gentle, and McG can feel he’s not going to like whatever comes next. “Everyone has to die some day. And that’s nobody’s fault.” 

“Yeah, well, not you. Not today.” 

_Not on my watch_ , is what McG doesn’t say, _not with your blood still on my hands_. 

“I…have had more then my shares of close calls and you can only run from something for so long before it catches you. I have been running for a very long time and I’m tired, McG. Maybe…maybe this is…” 

Amir trails off, not finishing the sentence. So McG finishes it for him, something that feels a little like panic bubbling in his stomach. His voice sounds clipped and hollow in his ears, like he’s listening to someone else talk. 

“Maybe what? Maybe this is for the best? Is that what you were going to say?”

“No!” Amir says, almost surprised, “No, I was just…I think that there are some things you can’t escape from in life. Some debts that have to be paid.” 

McG doesn’t want to die here. Sure, he thinks there are some things worth dying for but he doesn’t want it to end yet. Not when there’s still so much to see and do and live. Good food and good company and beautiful women, mountains he hasn’t climbed, sunsets and sunrises and the quiet empty stillness of a Montana morning to see. He wants it all, fiercely and deeply and with his whole heart. And he doesn’t think Amir wants to die either, not really. But the way he talks about it is so resigned, so calm. Almost like he was expecting it, like he’s ready. It makes him sad, but it also makes him angry. And the more he thinks about it the angrier he gets, a deep simmering anger that tastes a lot like fear if he stops for too long. He thinks about the rest of the team, how they’re out there right now looking for them. Amir may not care about his own life, but that doesn’t mean they don’t. They’re a family, they don’t get to decide things alone. 

“No.” McG says flatly. “You don’t get to talk like that Amir, alright? Jaz and Preach and Top are out there right now risking their asses to come find us, to find _you_. You _owe_ it to them to hold on, do you understand? You do not get to just throw in the towel. You stay alive, and you do it for them.”

There’s a long pause before Amir replies. 

“I will hold on as long as I can.”

He says, quiet but earnest. And it’s a compromise, but it’s one McG thinks he can live with for now.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was a little short so this one's a bit longer to make up for it. It was originally supposed to the last chapter before the epilogue but it got long so I decided to split it in two, so one extra chapter for you all!

McG shivers, the cold concrete he’s sitting against starting to leach the heat out of his body. The only warmth he can feel comes from the blood slowly soaking into the leg of his pants and Amir’s back against his chest. Amir hasn’t moved in a while, not even to shiver. He can feel him breathing though, each inhale seems weaker then the last. Like McG can feel him fading away in front of him. He is fading away in front of him, McG doesn’t need his eyes to see how bad things are. Without real medical attention it’s just a slow futile march towards an inevitable end. McG shakes himself, wondering when he got so grim. It’s not his style to be defeatist, and he doesn’t like the way it sits on him. He’s pulled from his thoughts by a soft whisper.

“It was my fault.”

Amir mumbles, and the quiet sound of his voice in the still cool air is jarring after the heavy stretch of silence. McG leans closer, the words so faint he’s not even sure he heard them.

“What do you mean it was your fault?”

“I-I should have driven her. Shouldn’t have let her… let her get on the bus.”

His words are faltering, and he stumbles his way through the sentence like he’s not sure what words are going to come next. McG frowns,

“Amir, man, you’re not making sense here. What bus?”

Amir ignores him though, and McG gets the sense he’s not really aware of his presence anymore, that’s he’s speaking more to himself then McG. 

“I was supposed to drive her to her first practice. But I was tired and I made her take the bus and now she’s gone.”

McG has no idea what Amir’s talking about but whatever it is it’s obviously agitating him. He shifts restlessly, breath catching in his throat in quick harsh gasps as he moves. If he keeps going like this he’s going to tear open any clotting that might have started to develop, the last thing either of them need. Amir doesn’t have any blood left he can afford to lose. 

“Hey hey hey, you’re fine Amir. It’s fine, calm down man. I’m right here okay, just relax.”

McG says soothingly, but Amir doesn’t seem to hear him, if anything his movements seem to become more restive, and he turns fitfully in McG’s arms. Reaching forward McG puts one hand across Amir’s forehead, thumb stroking lightly but firmly against his temple. His mother used to do this, when he was a kid and had a fever or after particularly bad nightmares. It had helped him then, he hopes it can help Amir now.

“Come on Amir, relax man, you gotta breathe.”

He repeats softly, gently pressing Amir’s head back into the crook of his shoulder. He keeps his hand across Amir’s sweaty brow, thumb still moving in small steady circles.

“The bus…Shouldn’t… shouldn’t have let her take the bus…”

Amir says again, but his voice is smaller now, less sure. Like he’s losing the thread of the conversation.

“Are you talking about your sister Amir? Is that who got on the bus?”

There’s a long silence, before Amir replies shakily, with a grief so aching sharp in his voice McG could cut himself on it. 

“It was my fault.”

It sounds like something he’s said before, like a mantra, or a reminder. That kind of guilt is too heavy to carry, McG has found. But he also knows that doesn’t stop people from trying. 

“It’s okay Amir, whatever happened it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Even as he says it though, he get’s the sense that he’s fighting a losing battle, trying to heal something that runs far too deep. Something that can’t be fixed with platitudes. Still, McG has never been one to back down from anything, so he tries anyways. After a few more seconds he realizes that Amir’s still under his hand, at first he thinks he’s calmed down but then his head lolls forward like a puppet whose strings have been cut, like a corpse. A now familiar panic flares in his chest, and he hoists Amir back against him, holding him up.

“ _Dammit_ don’t pull this again,”

He bites out, words clipped and brusque with stress, reaching around to rub his knuckles hard into Amir’s sternum. Amir groans in protest, trying to shift away from the painful stimulus. 

“That’s right, that’s right. You just start talking to me and I’ll stop how does that sound?” 

“McG….I’m tired…”

Amir murmurs, voice trailing off weakly. 

“I know man, I know. But you gotta stay awake, Amir. Stay awake. C’mon, talk to me, tell me about your sister. ”

McG says, near frantic. Slowly he feels Amir’s head shift, the scratch of curly hair brushing against the stubble of his chin and the faint damp warmth of each of his breaths.

“She…she loved the violin. She could play so beautifully. I never told her how much I loved to listen to her play, why didn’t I tell her?”

There’s an odd hitch to his voice, and McG feels something warm and wet on his neck where’s Amir’s cheek is pressed against his skin. With a start he realizes that Amir is crying, and his stomach lurches uncomfortably. He’s never seen Amir cry before. He’s suddenly, selfishly, glad he can’t see Amir’s face. He doesn’t think he could bear seeing the grief etched into his eyes that he hears in his voice, feels against his neck.

“I wish…” Amir says, “I wish I could hear her play one last time.”

It sounds like a goodbye, it sounds like giving in, and McG feels his stomach turn to ice.

“Amir don’t you dare quit on me goddammit. Don’t you fucking dare.”

He hisses, reaching up to grasp at Amir’s shoulder, fingers pressing hard into skin. Amir doesn’t respond, but McG can hear his breathing, rasping and rapid. He doesn’t know what to do. There’s nothing that he can do. He’s fading himself, head throbbing in unison with a suddenly deafening heartbeat in his ears and his leg continues to slowly seep blood. A feeling sinks heavy in his gut, one he hasn’t felt in a long time, one he hadn’t ever wanted to feel again. It’s being fifteen watching his mother cry quietly to herself in the living room after she thinks he’s gone to sleep, it’s watching her grow smaller in the rearview mirror on his way to boot camp, it’s lying on his back as the stallion’s hooves descend. Leaning forward he presses his forehead to the back of Amir’s curls, taking a deep trembling breath.

“C’mon man. Don’t give up.”

He whispers, like he can make Amir stay just by asking. All he gets in response is silence. Amir’s back which had been warm against him is starting to cool now, the heat leaching out of him like he’s already dead. And maybe this is how it ends, in the dark and the quiet. Maybe it ends with a slow fade into nothing. McG hates that. Hates the dark and the quiet and the futility of it all. The way it feels like giving up. And then he decides fuck that. Fuck that. He’s not going to quit, not just going to accept this as the end. Not after he told Amir to fight. Not when there’s a chance. Not when their team is looking for them. 

“Amir.”

He tries again, louder this time, shaking the other man’s shoulders hard. Amir just slides further down his chest, limp and boneless and unresponsive. That’s when McG realizes that he can’t hear the unsteady intake of breath any more, just an absence of sound that is somehow deafening in it’s silence. For a second the world stutters to a halt around him, and then he’s scrabbling at Amir’s neck for a pulse, awkward unresponsive fingers jabbing harshly into the skin below his jaw. For an awful, endless, second, he finds nothing. Then, just when he starts to feel the ground fall out from underneath him, he feels it. It’s a thready faltering thing, barely there beneath his fingertips, and far to fast. But he feels it. And that means there’s a chance. Sitting up he quickly he leans over Amir’s slack body, pressing his ear near to Amir’s mouth. There’s nothing, no sound or the soft heat of breath against his cheek. 

Pushing himself off the wall he pulls Amir out of his lap and shifts position onto his knees, ignoring the screams of protest from his leg. Laying Amir down as gently as he can while trying to avoid any chunks of debris on the ground, he pats along his chest till he finds his heart and laces his fingers together in a familiar position. Starting a count in his head he begins compressions, pressing down as hard as he can with brutal efficiency. He retreats into the anonymity of it, the routine. He’s done this a hundred times, practiced it a thousand more. It’s easier if he thinks about it that way, instead of knowing it’s Amir body limp and unresponsive under his hands. Amir’s lungs he’s pressing air into, Amir’s heart he’s trying to keep beating. If he thinks about that too hard he might sink under the weight of it. Reaching his thirty count he tilts Amir’s head back, bending down and pressing his mouth against Amir’s to breathe for him. Sitting up he starts compressions again,

“C’mon Amir,”

He says a little breathlessly, 

“C’mon man, breathe, come on, just breathe Amir!”

There’s no response, and so he keeps on, pressing against Amir’s limp chest with every bit of strength left in him. He continues CPR for what feels like ever, pausing only to check Amir’s pulse and bite out desperate pleas and threats, none of which seem to do any good. On the fifth round of compressions he feels something snap underneath his hands as one of Amir’s ribs give way, but he continues on. A broken rib is preferable to a gravestone, he’ll find time to apologize later. 

After five minutes his arms are starting to burn with the effort, and he can feel sweat dripping down his face despite the cold temperature. Amir’s still not breathing. He stops for a second, reaching out a shaky hand to take Amir’s pulse again. It’s weaker then before, slow now as opposed to the frenetic tachychardia of earlier. McG can nearly count the seconds between each beat. It’s clear he’s fighting a losing battle, and he knows he’s not going to be able to keep the CPR for much longer. 

“Come on Amir, fight dammit!”

He spits, voice made harsh by fear and exertion. Amir doesn’t move underneath his hands though, doesn’t give indication of life. Even as McG starts again he can tell this isn’t working, that if he keeps doing what he’s doing Amir’s going to die. He frantically casts around for anything he can do, thinking back to his training, and he lands on something. A long shot, but maybe his only shot. 

There’s a case of Epipen’s in his medpac, he’s kept them in there ever since he joined the team. Jaz is deathly allergic to shellfish and it’s always better to be prepared. Each one is only a .5 mg dosage, just meant to combat the effects of anaphylaxis, but if he jerry rigs a couple of them it might be enough to get Amir’s heart rate up and give him a fighting chance to make it to real medical attention. There’s risk associated with it though, he knows that. Has read the papers. Epinephrine might bring the patient back in the short-term, but there’s consequences that come back to bite you down the road. Brain damage, relapses, no guarantee of long-term survival, the list goes on. 

In the end it’s not really a choice, though. In the end it comes down to whether or not he can let Amir die here on this cold concrete floor when he had a chance to do something about it. And that’s not really a choice at all. If there are consequences, then McG will take full responsibility, but he knows he doesn’t have it in him to sit back and watch his friend slip away.

Stopping his compressions he paws blindly for his pack, snagging one of the shoulder straps and dragging it towards him. It takes a few seconds of fumbling around to find the case of Epipen’s, precious seconds that Amir’s not breathing, that his heart is barely beating. He finally finds the hard plastic case and pulls it out, snapping it open and pouring the contents into his lap. Throwing the case to the side he reaches down and feels for a single Epipen and starts to dismantle it. Going as quickly as he can while still being careful he pulls off the safety cap, then twists off the sleeve, pulling out the spring load and depressor. Finally he gently slides the cartridge out of it’s plastic housing into his palm. It’s hard to do in the dark, and he has to navigate the delicate process by touch alone. He repeats the procedure with two more injectors, till he has three doses set aside. 

Reaching back into his pack he rifles around to find the set of hypodermic syringes he carries, fingers closing around one to pull it out. Next comes the trickiest part of the whole procedure. Sliding his ka-bar out of it’s holster he takes the first cartridge and uses the edge of the knife to pop the metal top off. Holding it carefully uprights he sets down the knife and uses his free hand to rip off the hypo’s plastic packaging, then inserts the needle into the open cartridge, pulling up the plunger. There’s no way to know when the whole dose has transferred so he just has to pray it’s all in. 

“Well I think I can confidently say this is the most janky medical procedure I’ve ever participated in and I’ve worked with Top for years.”

He says to Amir as he collects the next two doses. Amir doesn’t reply, of course, and McG has to suppress a slightly hysterical laugh. His hands shake a little and he takes a deep breath as he finishes the last cartridge, trying to steady himself. Pointing the syringe upwards he gives the barrel a few taps to move the air bubbles to the top and presses the plunger down slightly to push them out. 

He can’t see Amir’s arms to find a vein so he has to go with muscle memory, sliding the point of the needle into the limp crook of Amir’s elbow and slowly depressing the plunger till it bottoms out. Pulling the hypo out he settles back on his heels, swallowing hard. This is it. This is all he’s got. If it doesn’t work then…

“You promised me man, you gotta fight, alright? You gotta fight it.”   
  
For a second there’s no change, but then there’s a sharp rattling intake of breath, and then Amir’s coughing, deep heaving wheezes that sound awful. McG’s so grateful to hear it he could cry. Reaching down he grabs Amir’s shoulder, helping him roll onto his side as he hacks, body coming down from the shock of the drug. 

“That’s right buddy, Just breath. Just breath. I got you.” 

McG says, weary with relief and so exhausted he could cry. Beneath his hands Amir’s chest rises and falls. 


	6. chapter six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, sitting at home all day has suddenly given me lots of time to write and this just keeps getting longer! It's looking like one more chapter before the epilogue now. Hope everyone's staying safe in these crazy times!

After a few minutes Amir’s breathing has evened out a little and his heart rate is stronger then before, though still far too fast. He’s pretty much a dead weight at this point, body limp and yielding (but alive, McG has to remind himself, _alive_ ) and McG’s to tired to sit them up again so they end up sprawled on the floor together, Amir half in McG’s lap as he slumps against the wall. Reaching down with an aching arm he gives Amir’s shoulder a gentle pat, letting his head fall back against the wall behind him.

“You did good, man, you did good.”

He whispers, and Amir doesn’t reply, but he breathes, and it’s enough. After that McG lets go, too drained and bone-tired to try and hold onto reality anymore. He’s done the best that he could, and now it’s up to the team to do the rest, he’s tapped out. He doesn’t know how long he drifts for, half-conscious in the darkness. The thing that rouses him from his hazy fugue state is almost too good to be true. 

The first time he hears it he doesn’t think it’s real, just his mind playing tricks on him. It’s the faint sound of voices coming from somewhere to his left. The second time though it’s closer and more clear, and he picks out Jaz’s voice saying something indistinct. He sits up straighter, exhaustion momentarily forgotten.   
  
“Jaz? Jaz! We’re in here!” 

There’s a pause, and the sound of debris shifting under booted feet. When he hears her voice again it’s closer. 

“Hey, hey, shut up you guys I think I heard something.”

McG feels hope and impatience and giddy relief swell in his stomach. 

“We’re here, we’re alive!”

He shouts as loud as he can, and in his lap he can feel Amir stir lightly. Reaching down he squeezes his shoulder again.

“I told you they would find us, buddy. I told you.”

  
From outside the collapsed rubble of the store room the sound of activity increases, rocks being pulled at and three voices overlapping in heated conversation. After a few moments Top’s voice filters through the wall, 

“McG, what’s the situation?”

“I’m fine. Amir needs medical attention yesterday.”

There’s a pause then, and then a few more seconds of in discernable conversation before Top’s voice reappears. 

“Just hold on a little longer okay, we’re working on getting you guys out.”

“You gotta get in here soon, man, Amir’s…he’s not doing too hot.”

There’s a half a second pause before Top’s voice sounds again. 

“How bad are we talking?”

McG swallows. 

“Just…hurry.”

There’s a shifting sound and then for the first time in hours sunlight filters through a small hole in the rubble and hits McG’s eyes. He squints, looking away, the bright light making his eyes sting and water after so long in the inky blackness of their little prison. A face appears in the gap, Preach’s dark eyes looking tense and worried but steady. 

“Listen, this wall’s to unstable to take down by hand. We’re going to try using a shaped charge to blow out the door instead. Stay towards the back of the room and keep you head down, we’ll have you out in no time.” 

All McG has a chance to do is nod before Preach withdraws from the hole. They’re already against the back wall which thankfully means he doesn’t have to try and move Amir, but he unbuckles his TAC vest and clumsily slips it off, draping it over as much of he and Amir as he can. 

“Ready.”

He calls, voice echoing hollow against the walls. A second later there’s a loud dull boom and a rush of air that pushes dirt and grime off the ground and McG coughs, feeling concrete dust settle on his lips. Then the metal clang of something being pushed aside and then more light as somebody clambers through a door shaped hole in the rubble, Jaz he thinks, when he sees the long dark swing of a braid. Crowding in behind her comes the burnt butter of Top’s hair and Preach like a shadow, an inky silhouette against the light flooding in. After the long dark silence so many people in the small space is overwhelming, and McG resists the urge to pass out, clinging desperately to consciousness. There’s voices saying his name, and Amir’s, and somebody whispers in a horrified tone, 

“Jesus, is that blood?”

Then there are hands, gently pulling Amir out of his arms and for a second he tenses not exactly sure why but sure that if he lets go something bad is going to happen.

“Hey, McG, you gotta let go so we can get him out okay? He’s gonna be fine you just have to let go.”

His brain catches up to his body and he releases his hold on Amir’s body, squinting to see Jaz and Preaching lifting him carefully into their arms. Jaz’s face looks white in the washed out light, lips bloodless and thin. He opens his mouth to speak and only a croak comes out, mouth dry. He licks his lips and tries again. 

“Tell… tell the doctors he’s had a 1 milligram dose of epinephrine.”

He calls out in a shallow rasp that sounds frightening even to his own ears. The clinical part of his brain warring with pure animal panic. There’s a warm hand on his shoulder and he turns his head slightly to see Top kneeling beside him, brows furrowed. 

“We’ll tell them, man. Just take it easy. We got you. We found you.” 

He manages to snort lightly, eyes already drifting closed. 

“Yeah, took you long enough.”

Whatever parts of him were still holding onto staying awake let go before Top responds, and the darkness he’s been resisting for so long rises to meet him. The last thing he hears is Top’s voice calling his name sharply. 

When he wakes up again it’s in a hospital bed in a private room. It’s large and air-conditioned and fluorescently bright and McG’s never been so happy to see a light fixture before in his life. A strangled laugh escapes at the thought, and it sounds loud against the gentle sanitized hum of hospital equipment. There’s a sound from beside him and McG looks over to see Top sitting next to his bed, blinking himself awake. His hair is a mess, and he looks exhausted, dark circles etched under his eyes. 

“Hey, hey. You’re up. How are you feeling?” 

He asks through a yawn, voice raspy with sleep. McG pauses a moment to take stock; his head aches dully and he can feel bulky bandages on his thigh underneath the scratchy hospital blanket but the pain is masked and distant. Thank god for morphine. He shrugs. 

“I’ll be fine.” He pauses before he asks his next question desperate to know the answer, but afraid of it at the same time. “How’s…how’s Amir.” 

For a long moment Top doesn’t reply, and McG feels his gut start to clench. 

“Come on, Top, you’re freaking me out, is he okay?” 

He says weakly, trying to not to sound as terrified as he feels. A thousand possibilities run through his head, each one worse then the one before. He crashed during exfil and they couldn’t get him back, he made it to surgery but they lost him on the table, he survived but there’s brain damage, the list goes on and on. Top sighs, rubbing at his beard. 

“He’s okay. Doctor’s don’t think there’s any neurological damage, but they’re gonna run some more tests when he wakes up. It was pretty touch and go there for a while though, not going to lie to you.”

McG can nearly feel every muscle in his body relaxing as he sinks back into his pillows and he closes his eyes for a second, taking a deep shaky breath. He’s okay. Amir’s okay. 

“Jesus Christ man, you scared the shit out of me.”

He says when he’s pulled himself together again. Top lets out a short bark of laughter, but there’s not much humor in it. 

“Yeah, well, you scared the shit out of us too.”

And it’s a joke, but it’s not. McG shifts uncomfortably, not sure what to say. He tries to lighten the mood, poke a little fun like he always does. He thinks he can take an irritated Top better then he can handle this somber one. 

“Aw come on, I wasn’t even hurt really. Bet it only like 20 stitches to close me up.” 

Top doesn’t laugh again though, and his expression is grim. 

“When we found you, there was just so much blood everywhere. Amir looked dead, Christ, you looked halfway there-”

He breaks off, face shadowed, jaw working a little. McG feels a chill settle in his stomach, because Top only looks like that when things are totally FUBAR, when they lose people. That more then anything tells him just how bad it had been and it’s like ice in his veins. After a second though the shadow passes, and Top lets out a long exhale of breath, just looking tired again. 

“I should let you get some rest.”

He says, pushing himself to his feet and headed for the door. McG should let it go, should do what Top said and get some rest, should just wait till he’s thinking more clearly. But it doesn’t sit right with him, that he’s sitting here fine after all of this, and nobody knows the truth. Before he can stop himself he calls calls out, 

“It was my fault.”

Top stops halfway through a step, and McG can nearly see his shoulders tighten underneath his t-shirt. For a long second he doesn’t turn around. 

“What was?”

He asks, a little warily. McG swallows hard, and carefully watches his back. 

“Everything. My leg, Amir. It was my fault.”

It’s almost easier to say it the second time, like he’s getting used to the sound. _It was my fault_. Top sighs, finally turning around. Slowly he walks back towards McG and sits heavily in the chair   
beside his bed again.

“Okay. How was it your fault.” 

McG takes a deep breath, meeting Top’s eyes. 

“When we were headed for the exit, I was going to fast. I didn’t clear a corner properly, and I got tagged. When Amir tried to help me that’s when he…”

“When he got hit.”

Top finishes bluntly for him. McG feel;s something clench in his chest at the words, even though they’re true, and he looks down at the scratchy pale blue blanket covering his legs. 

“Yeah.”

And his voice sounds small, like a child’s when they know they’ve done something bad. Although in this case he didn’t track mud on the living room carpet or break a window with a stray baseball, instead he nearly got Amir killed. 

“I fucked up Top, I know that-”

“I’m not going to write you up if that’s what you’re looking for here.”

Top says, cutting him off before he can finish. He pauses, rest of the sentence dying in his throat, and the wind taken out of his sails. When he finds his voice again he asks, 

“Why not?”

Because why shouldn’t he get written up? Why shouldn’t he get punished? He deserves it. Deserves something, at least. Top just looks at him steadily. 

“Look, if Amir was in a coffin and not a hospital bed maybe we’d be having a different conversation right now. But he’s isn’t. He’s alive, mostly because of you. Yeah, you did fuck up, you’re not wrong, but you _know_ you did. There’s no way that a ding in your record is gonna make you feel any worse then you do right now, and it’s not going to make you smarter next time.”

McG knows that Top’s right, a formal reprimand is going to change anything, but still. There’s a part of him that wants it anyways. At least then he’d have something in print that would justify him feeling like crap, a marker for the rest of the world too see. 

“The doctor said the epinephrine probably saved his life.”

Top states, softly, after a long moment. McG doesn’t say anything for a while, and when he does it doesn’t sound like him. 

“Then why do I still feel like shit?” 

He doesn’t look at Top when he says it, but he can feel the pity in his eyes anyways and he hates it. He doesn’t need pity. 

“I can’t speak for Amir, man, but I have a feeling he wouldn’t want you beating yourself up like this. You should talk to him.”

McG sniffs, nods.

“Yeah. Yeah. I will.” 

Top nods, moving to stand. At the last moment he pauses though, halfway out of his chair. Reaching out he puts a hand on McG’s knee, just below the bandages. He looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, just gives his leg a gentle squeeze and then gets up and heads for the door. Before he leaves he looks back.

“Just… talk to him.” 

And then he’s gone, and McG is alone in his hospital room with his fluorescent lights. 


	7. chapter seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter before the epilogue!

McG gets released the next day with a prescription for pain meds and a set of crutches. It’s like he told Top, he really wasn’t hurt that bad. Still, he’ll be off active duty for at least a month and with the team down two members they’re grounded for the present as well. The first night back at the barracks feels wrong, without Amir. He knows he’s fine, he’s just in the hospital recovering, but still. It won’t feel right till he’s back with them, cooking them breakfast and playing horseshoes with McG and getting all philosophical with Preach at to damn early in the morning. He thinks the other can sense something’s off, they tiptoe gingerly around him like he’s made of glass, like he’s going to shatter if they’re not careful. It’s ridiculous. He’s not a child, or a wounded animal. It’s fine. He’s fine. 

He doesn’t like sleeping in his bunk anymore, the stuffy cramped darkness of it feels suffocating. He starts crashing on the couch instead, and if Preach or Top or Jaz leave the light on when they head to bed then none of them say anything about it. He’s fine. Top keeps giving him long loaded looks, and he doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need too.   
He goes to see Amir a few times, but he’s mostly out of it, and when he does wake up it’s only for a few minutes at a time. He’s not sure whether he’s glad or not about that. Mostly McG just sits next to him and reads or fills out paperwork. It’s comforting, he’s realized, to watch Amir breathing. To hear the easy unlabored inhales and exhales. Sometimes, when he’s sure no ones around too see, he’ll reach out and rest his hand on Amir’s chest, above his heart, just to feel the rise and fall. 

It’s nearly a week after the incident, and McG’s siting by Amir’s bed, bad leg propped up on the edge of the mattress because it hurts less when it’s straightened out. He’s got a notepad balanced precariously on his thigh, and a cup of shitty vending machine coffee in his hand. He shifts a little as he stretches his back out, yawning, and the pad slips to the floor with a gentle thud. He curses lightly, pulling his leg off the bed so he can bend over and grab it. When he sits up he’s met with dark brown eyes open and staring and he freezes. 

“Sorry I didn’t mean to wake you up I- I can leave.”

McG mumbles awkwardly, setting down his coffee so quick he nearly spills it, already reaching for his crutches. Amir shakes his head though, blinking catlike up at McG. 

“No, stay.”

MCG pauses, hands still outstretched, and they hang there for a moment before falling back into his lap. It’s the first real sentence he’s heard out of Amir since Ukraine. He clears his throat, scratches at a stain on the left knee of his jeans. From the bed Amir watches. 

“How are you feelin’?”

He asks finally, when the silence has become unbearable. Amir shrugs.

“I’ve felt better. But I’m alive. Mostly thanks to you I’ve heard.”

Something catches in his chest at that, tugs at the threads of guilt still weaving their way closed till it all threatens to come undone. He sniffs, shrugs a little. 

“It wasn’t really… I didn’t do much.” 

Amir arches an eyebrow, but doesn’t contradict him. 

“How are you doing?”

He asks instead, and McG has to hold back a slightly strangled laugh, because Amir’s asking how he is. Like he’s not the one lying in a hospital bed, not the one who almost died a week ago. 

“I’m fine.” 

He says shortly, finding that suddenly he can’t look Amir in the eyes. They lapse into silence again, broken only by the faint beeping of Amir’s heart monitor in the background. It’s funny, everybody thinks that McG’s the chatty one in their group, but the truth is he’s always been very comfortable with the quiet; growing up in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of cows for company had made that skill a necessity. Sure, he likes to joke around, likes to make his friends laugh because if he can why not? But he’s never needed silences to be filled. Truth be told he kind of likes the calmness of a standing in a field somewhere with not a word to be said.

This silence is different though; it feels heavy, feels alive with something that prickles at McG’s skin. It sits between them like a wall, like a darkness even though all the lights are on. Amir seems to sense something’s off (he always does) because after a few too long seconds he nudges McG’s foot with his elbow. 

“You’re unusually quiet.” 

McG tries to smile, lands somewhere halfway there.

“Are you trying to say I talk a lot?”

He asks jokingly, but the jab falls flat. Even to his own ears it sounds half-hearted and he winces a little, sighing. It feels wrong, to make jokes, to talk about anything, when the weight of what he hasn’t said still sits between them. He takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. It’s funny, McG has faced down terrorists and bombs and the worst of what humanity has to offer, yet somehow this is so much scarier. 

“Amir…I wanted to apologize.”

He whispers, looking down at his hands. 

“Apologize for what?”

At that McG’s head jerks up and he finally meets Amir’s eyes, jaw slackening a little in shock. 

“For what? Amir, it’s my fault this happened. We both know I didn’t clear that corner and it…It’s my fault.”

Amir shrugs carefully with one shoulder, brown eyes inscrutable. 

“Not the way I see it.”

McG scoffs, shaking his head bitterly. 

“I could’ve gotten you killed, hell I _did_ almost get you killed because I made a stupid, avoidable mistake. That’s on me, you don’t have to try and spare my feelings.”

Amir sighs.

“Yes, you didn’t clear that corner properly, but I ran out into a situation I knew was hostile and turned my back on it. Even if you had cleared the corner his partner still could have gotten the jump on us at the next hallway, or looped behind us. It could have been worse.” 

“Amir…you stopped breathing. Your heart was barely beating. I broke your fucking ribs. The only way it could have been worse is if I was at a funeral right now instead of sitting in a hospital room.”

“You were trying to save my life. You did save my life.”

Amir says quietly, evenly, but McG’s too lost in the panic and guilt and fear to listen to it. 

“Well I maybe I wouldn’t have had to if I hadn’t gotten you shot in the first place!” 

He’s nearly shouting now, and he doesn’t even remember raising his voice. Just feels this terrible pressure in his chest building and building, like a weight that won’t go away. Amir sits there patiently, a rock in the storm, and lets it wash over him. And somehow that almost makes McG angrier, because it was his fault. It was his fault, how doesn’t Amir see that? He almost died because of McG and he’s sitting there and telling him it’s okay. It’s not okay. 

“There are many terrible things in this world, McG. If we chose to carry each of them with us we would break under the weight of it, I have spent many years learning that lesson.”

McG takes a deep breath, feels it shake as he lets it out. 

“What are you saying?”

He asks, so soft it’s barely a question. 

“I’m saying choose what burdens you bring with you. And realize which ones are not yours to bear. The past is the past, and we can’t undo it no matter how hard we try. Maybe you got me shot, but you saved my life too. I think that makes us even.” 

Amir answers, and his voice is steady. Somehow he’s steady and McG’s the one falling apart. 

“I’ve forgiven you, Joseph, you just have to forgive yourself.”

It’s not that easy, McG wants to say, it’s never that easy, but then, maybe it is? Maybe the only one who’s making it hard is him. His mom had always told him he was his own worst enemy, maybe she was righter then either of them knew. He lets out a jagged little laugh, shaking his head. Amir watches him carefully from his hospital bed, and McG looks at him, really looks. And he doesn’t say you’re right or thank you, because he knows Amir already knows those things. Instead he leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. 

“Y’know, I can’t sleep in my bunk anymore.” 

Amir just waits. 

“It’s not just the dark, it’s just…” McG waves a hand loosely. “Too closed in, I guess.” 

“I have to admit I’m enjoying the fact that they never seem to turn the lights of in hospitals for once.” 

Amir replies, with a faint laugh. There’s understanding in his eyes. McG slowly nods, and they sit in silence for a while. This one isn’t heavy and charged though, it’s easy. As easy as breathing. While they sit there McG thinks. Thinks about what it feels like to be alone, what it feels like to not be able to go home, thinks about Amir sitting in an empty apartment somewhere. He thinks about the way Amir’s voice had sounded when he had said that there are some things that are unforgiveable. 

“Listen, Amir.” He says finally, licking his lips. He’s oddly nervous, but he pushes it down and forges on. “No pressure or anything, but next time we rotate home, would you want to come visit me in Montana? It’s a big house, plenty of room for three and I’m sure my mom would love to meet you-”

He cuts himself off after a second, realizing he’s rambling and forces himself to sit and wait and actually give Amir a chance to respond. A flash of surprise crosses Amir’s face, and something that’s almost wistful, but then he smiles. 

“McG, it would be my great honor.” 

McG smiles back, letting out a shaky laugh. 

“Woah there, don’t get your expectations up or anything. It’s nothing fancy.”

“But it’s your home, isn’t it?”

McG pauses, and considers the quesiton. Thinks about clear blue Montana sky and the smell of warm animals in a barn and Buffalo’s thick wiry fur under his fingers. Thinks about his mom’s smile and her favorite boots, scuffed and dented, sitting by the front door. 

“Yeah, yeah it is.”

Amir shrugs. 

“Then that is honor enough for me.” 

Amir looks so solemn when he says it, sitting in his hospital bed with his shoulder engulfed in bandages, that McG has to restrain another laugh. 

“Well, when you put it like that….anyways. Invitation stands. Look, I should get back to base, before the declare me AWOL or something.” 

He pulls his bum leg off the bed, levering himself to his feet carefully and grabbing his crutches from where they’re leaning against the bed stand. He’s just turning to leave, when he pauses, and looks back over his shoulder. 

“And hey,” he says, carefully, “Maybe some day, you return the favor, huh? Heard there’s a pretty sweet pine tree that needs climbing back in Beirut.”

Amir looks up startled and almost defensive, but then his shoulders relax, and he looks down at his hands. 

“Yeah. Maybe some day.”

And there’s something bittersweet to the words, like he’s not sure if he believes them. McG leaves him to rest after that, makes the short walk to the barracks. It’s late out now, most people are already racked out except for the night shift and the walk is quiet. His leg aches a little, but it’s a good ache. A healing one. 

When he gets back to their Quonset Top’s still outside, sitting by the dying embers of a fire with his boots up on the edge of the firepit. He looks up when McG approaches, gives him a nod. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

McG echoes, lowering himself into a seat beside him. Top twists the cap off a beer and passes it too him. 

“So,” Top finally asks after they sit quietly for a while. “You talk to Amir?”

He throws the beer cap into fire pit while he speaks, and it sends up a shower of sparks from the coals, like fireflies. 

“Yeah. I did.”

“And?”

McG tilts his head back, looking up at the sky. It’s washed out by the camps floodlights, but he can still see stars faintly. 

“I invited him to come visit, next time we have leave.”

He says, taking a sip of his beer. Top might actually look surprised at that, but it’s hard to tell in the dark. 

“To Montana.”

He states more then asks. McG nods. 

“Yup, to meet mom and Buffalo and a whole buncha cows.”

Top snorts, rocking his camp chair back onto two legs and balancing on them. 

“And that mean old stallion?”

It’s McG’s turn to snort. 

“Yeah, and that mean ol’ stallion.” 

“Good. That’ll be good. For both of you.”

McG thinks that Top might have the right of it. They sit out there for a while longer, till the fire dies out completely and McG’s beer is empty. 

“Well, I think it is past both of our bedtimes.”

Top says, setting his bottle on the ground and standing with a groan. McG rolls his eyes but lets Top offer a hand and pull him to his feet. They head into the Quonset hut together, Top walking slow to keep pace with McG’s hobbling. 

“See you in the morning,” 

Top says quietly when they make it inside, heading for his room. McG waves absentmindedly, then pauses. The couch stares at him from the middle of the room, almost mockingly. He doesn’t know how long he stands there looking at it, long enough that he startles a little when Top’s voice calls out from the direction of his bunks. 

“Hey,”

McG looks up, seeing him standing in the door of his room with an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Just a couch, McG.” 

And it’s true, the couch is just a couch and a room is just a room and the dark is nothing but a brief absence of light. It comes back, it always does. 

“Yeah,” he says slowly, turning the words over in his mouth. “Just a couch.” 

Top watches him for a second longer, before nodding to himself. 

“Good night, McG.”

He says, quietly, hitting the overhead light switch and disappearing into his room. 

“Night,”

McG repeats back, more to himself then to Top. And then he walks past the couch and towards his bunk. Tomorrow the sun will rise, and the day after that, and the day after that. Amir will get stronger, and he will come home. And when he does, they’ll be here waiting for him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone, stay safe!


	8. Epilogue

Amir’s been out of the hospital a few days now. He’s not cleared to go out on ops yet, but at least he’s not stuck in some bland sterile hospital room anymore, and McG figures that’s probably an improvement. It feels good, to have him back, and everyone’s mood has improved considerably. McG would like nothing more to put the whole thing behind them, but there’s something that’s still eating at him. Something Amir said, towards the end of their little nightmare. He spends three days trying to convince himself to leave well enough alone, but on the third he breaks. 

He finds Amir outside, sitting on the picnic bench with his feet on the bench, staring out across the dusty yard. McG walks over, hands in his pockets and squints against the bright noonday sun. 

“Mind if I sit?”

He asks, gesturing to the space next to Amir. Amir glances over at him, nods. 

“Of course.” 

McG steps up onto the bench, lowering himself carefully onto the table. His leg is mostly better, but it’s still stiff. Amir shifts to the side a little to give him room. McG takes a deep breath, and launches in before he can convince himself this is a bad idea. 

“I wanted to ask you something, and you don’t have to answer it or anything if you don’t want to.” 

Amir looks a little wary, but he nods. McG takes a second to think about how to ask this in a way that doesn’t come off as accusatory, eventually decides there isn’t really a good way. 

“Back when we were stuck in the building you started to get pretty confused towards the end, probably the blood loss. You kept talking about a bus, about how you shouldn’t have let someone get on it. Amir, were you… did you mean your sister?”

Amir goes perfectly still, every muscle in his body suddenly rigid, and McG can nearly feel the tension coming off him in waves. McG rushes onward, Amir’s response enough to convince that’s he’s right, and also that whatever it is that happened Amir doesn’t want to talk about. 

“Like I said, feel free to tell me to shut up, I’m not trying to pry or anything I just figured, y’know, if you wanted to talk about it.” 

Amir takes a breath, and McG can see his throat working. He shakes his head. 

“No. It’s alright. You should… you should know who you’re working with.”

McG frowns at the slightly ominous words, but stays silent and lets him continue, afraid if he interrupts him Amir will clam up again. 

“My sister played the piano, as I told you, she played it very well. Some might even say she was a prodigy.” A fond smile curves his lips at this, and McG feels something inside him ache at the sight. “When she was 14 she was invited to play with the Lebanese Philharmonic Orchestra. It was a great honor, and she was very excited. On her first day I was supposed to drive her rehearsals. But the night before I was- I stayed out late with friends. And I was tired. So I told her to take the bus.” 

His voice changes here, more bitter then McG’s heard it before, and he spits out the words like they’re acid, like they burn his tongue. McG feels like he knows where this is going and desperately hopes it doesn’t, his mind putting together pieces of a puzzle that form an ugly picture. 

“Someone planted a bomb, on the bus. It killed everyone on board. There wasn’t even a body left to bury, just _pieces_. Of my sister.”

His voice breaks when he says sister, and he takes another deep trembling breath. His hands are shaking, clenched together so tight his knuckles have gone white. 

“Jesus.” McG breathes out between his teeth, feeling sick. No wonder Amir feels like he can’t go home. “Amir, I’m sorry.” 

Amir just lets out a choked laugh, shaking his head. 

“Don’t be. I’m the one who got her killed.” 

He doesn’t say it like a question, like he’s looking for the blame. He says it like a fact. Like he was the one who planted that bomb, the one who pulled the trigger. It makes McG feel cold, even in the stifling heat. 

“Amir-”

He starts, not even sure what he’s going to say, not sure what there is to say to that, but Amir doesn’t let him finish. 

“She was fourteen McG, _fourteen_ , just a child. And now’s she dead. Because I was lazy and stupid and irresponsible.” 

“You were a kid, man.” 

McG says quietly, but Amir ignores him, keeps talking like he didn’t even hear him speak. 

“So now you know. Who I am. What I’ve done.” 

Amir finishes, falling silent. He keeps his eyes locked forward on the horizon, not looking at McG, not looking at anything really. His hands are still white-knuckled in his lap but his face is studiously, painfully, blank. McG searches for something to say, something that will make this better, and comes up pitifully empy. 

“It wasn’t your-”

He starts, but stops himself before he can finish the sentence, because that’s something Amir’s probably heard a hundred times before and it doesn’t mean anything, not really. Not now. He sighs, and decides to take a page out of Amir’s playbook instead. 

“Remember what you told me, back when I was being an idiot?”

Amir gives him a confused sideways look. 

“You said you gotta choose what burdens you bring with you, and which ones aren’t yours to bear.” 

“It’s not the same, McG. Don’t pretend it’s the same.” 

He whispers. McG just shrugs. 

“Don’t really see how it’s different. Way I see it, you were a kid, and you made a mistake with consequences you could have never imagined, and you’ve spent the rest of your life trying to make up for.”

Amir laughs, and it’s a hollow empty sound. 

“A mistake? I didn’t climb a tree I wasn’t allowed too or forget to lock the front door. She died McG, how is that just a mistake?”

“Amir, did you plant that bomb on that bus?”

Amir opens his mouth to protest, but McG doesn’t let him, presses further. 

“Come on, Amir look at me, did you?”

Amir turns his head, and his eyes are shadowed and hollow. McG’s seen that look before, in kids who grew up in warzones, in grieving families, and now here in his teammate. It always turns his stomach. Amir shakes his head, slowly, tentatively. 

“Okay, did you know it was there?”

Again Amir shakes his head. 

“So, I’m not really seeing how it was your fault. A thousand other days, you told her to take the bus and she would have been fine. No harm done.” 

“But she wasn’t.”

Amir whispers, and his voice is raw with grief. McG nods, feels his chest ache. 

“I know. And that’s terrible, tragic, luck. And I’m sorry for that, truly. What happened to your sister should never have happened, but it is no one’s fault except for the people who put that bomb on the bus. Especially not yours. And anybody who tried to tell you different is wrong, man. And that’s gods honest truth.” 

Amir takes an unsteady breath, looks up at the sky. 

“I’ve been carrying this for so long. Every morning I wake up, it’s the first thing I think about. I can’t just… I don’t know how to put it down.”

And Amir sounds desperate, sounds like a man past his breaking point, but there’s also something like hope in there. Like he’s looking for a way out, if someone will just give it too him. There’s no right answer for that, of course. It’s not going to be fixed in an afternoon, certainly not by McG. That sort of damage, years of guilt and pain and grief, it takes a while to undo. So McG gives the only answer he can. 

“One day at a time, Amir. Like everything else. And y’know, eventually, it’s not gonna be the first thing you think about. Or the last. You’re not going to forget her, you’re just gonna learn to live without her.” 

Amir laughs shakily again, but it doesn’t sound as bitter this time. 

“You make it sound so easy.”

McG shakes his head. 

“It’s not. I think it might be the hardest thing in the world, brother. But it’s a little bit easier when you got friends.” 

Amir nods, looks down at his hands, slowly unlaces them.   
“You know,” Amir says wryly after a moment, “I think you might be wiser then you give yourself credit for McG.” 

McG smiles, shaking his head and knocking his shoulder against Amir’s. 

“Hey, don’t say that where people can hear you man, I got a reputation to uphold.” 

Amir holds up his hands in a gesture of appeasement. 

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“Listen, I heard Preach was making some of his famous chili for lunch. It’s probably getting to be ready right about now, and trust me you don’t want to miss it.”

McG says, sliding down off the picnic table and stretching out his leg. 

“I think…I think I’m going to stay out here a little longer.” 

Amir replies, eyes drifting back to the horizon. McG let’s his gaze follow, wonders what Amir sees out there in the dust. 

“Yeah, no worries man. Just…whenever you’re ready. I’ll save you a bowl, make sure Top doesn’t scarf it all down.”   
“Thank you, McG”

Amir calls after him as McG starts to make his way inside, and McG gets the sense he’s not just talking about a bowl of Preach’s chili, however good it may be. 

“Of course man, no sweat. What you do for friends, right?”

And McG hopes Amir can tell he’s not talking about a bowl of chili either. Amir looks back at him then, and smiles, truly, for the first time since he went down with a bullet in his back in Ukraine. 

“Yeah. I guess it is.” 


End file.
